


Praise, Burning like Humiliation

by fairytales



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Crying, Dom/sub, Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Praise Kink, Top Stiles Stilinski, Verbal Humiliation, dom!stiles, it's not that angsty, sub!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytales/pseuds/fairytales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, praise is harder to handle than humiliation, especially when you know you don't deserve any of it. At all.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Derek has a bad day and Stiles tries to comfort him by praising him and it backfires.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Maybe Stiles knows all along what Derek needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praise, Burning like Humiliation

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a kind of porny praise-kink masquerading as verbal humiliation (or more accurately, verbal humiliation masquerading as praise). It turned out to not be very porny. 
> 
> All of the humiliation is Derek's reaction to the praise. 
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> Stiles and Derek are in a Dom/sub relationship that mentioned throughout the fic, but it's not really directly present. Derek's actions/words can be taken as that of someone suffering depression and relapsing. Derek does make Stiles stop, but no safewords are used (he doesn't feel the need to safeword out of the situation). 
> 
> There is accidental imagery going on. I didn't intend for that to happen.
> 
> I think that's it? Lemme know if I should tag/warn for anything else.

Derek stared at the broken pieces of the stupid figurine he was diligently trying to put back together. It had broken earlier in the week, during a mild earthquake, and Stiles had mentioned possibly fixing the thing, so there wouldn't be a weird empty spot on the shelf. And Derek... took it upon himself to attempt to fix the figurine. 

It wasn't supposed to be difficult. Derek liked working with his hands and it wasn't like the figurine had shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. It should be manageable.

And yet. 

Derek sighed and rested his head

\--

Derek shoved the broken pieces of the wolf figurine away and dropped his head to the desk. Such a simple task, repairing a broken figure, but like everything else, he just couldn't do it. He felt like a failure. 

Oh wait, he was. 

Derek groaned, thumping his head against the polished wooden surface. He normally wasn't one to indulge in pity parties, and he was usually so nonchalant about his failures, but something about the day just made it impossible to ignore the pity and the doubts and the knowledge that he couldn't do a damn fucking thing correctly--

A gentle touch to the back of his neck pulled him from his thoughts, and Derek stiffened, until he realized it was just Stiles. "What's got you so down, Sourwolf?" the boy asked - no, he was a man now, an adult, and so much more capable than Derek had ever been, could ever be, and Derek growled internally, annoyed by his wandering thoughts. He tried to focus on Stiles, on his touch, but it seemed impossible that day. 

"Derek?" Stiles asked again and tightened his grip on the back of Derek's neck. Derek went limp, relaxing into the gesture; it was trained, automatic by this point, which Derek was thankful for - it managed to pull him out of his head a little. Not enough to ignore the feelings of frustration and failure, but easing them. 

"It's nothing," Derek said, after a moment, when he realized Stiles was waiting for a response. He thought, briefly, about mentioning his frustrations with attempting to piece back together the wolf figurine, but by the time he'd made a decision, Stiles had dropped his hand and the moment was gone.

Stiles hummed under his breath, turning away and yanking his shirt over his head. "Come here," Stiles said, and Derek moved quickly, putting the broken pieces of the wolf out of his mind. It was easy to just do, not think, and he dropped to his knees in front of Stiles, already sure of how this was going to end. 

He liked it that way, getting on his knees for Stiles when Stiles asked - demanded - and letting himself forget, just listen to Stiles, and act and react. It worked for them, and Derek needed it that night, needed something to get out of his head. He usually didn't fuck up when he was on his knees for Stiles. 

"Wait," Stiles said, curling his hand around Derek's chin and tugging, indicating he should stand. It wasn't normal, and Derek stiffened, knowing that without a doubt he had fucked up again, because that was all he was-

"Hey," Stiles scolded softly, releasing Derek's chin and reaching for his arms instead, drawing Derek up when he seemed reluctant to stand. "Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to try something different tonight." 

Different. Derek wasn't all that positive he wanted different, especially that night, and his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Stiles asked, "Do you trust me?" as if Derek didn't. Stiles was expecting an answer though, so Derek nodded, because he did trust Stiles, more than he trusted anyone. And if Stiles wanted different, then he could manage, for a night. 

Maybe.

"You're so good, Derek," Stiles murmured, his voice low enough that if Derek hadn't been a werewolf, he wouldn't have heard the comment, and tugged Derek's shirt up. It was going to be different, Derek realized, because normally he was the one stripping both of them, and Stiles was usually loud. Not yelling-loud, just... loud. Present. Demanding, in both voice and action. This, though, this was different. 

"You're beautiful," Stiles continued, working on Derek's belt. His voice was still low, calm and contained and completely sincere, and Derek felt his stomach clench. He knew what he looked like, but beautiful wasn't one of the words he'd ever associate with himself. Beautiful was delicate, fragile, and deep. Derek was... he was hot, drool-worthy, crush-worthy, but not _beautiful_. 

"Yes, beautiful," Stiles said, as though he could read Derek's mind - Derek was almost convinced he could, sometimes. "You're one of the most attractive people I've seen, but even if you weren't, you'd still be beautiful." 

There's a white-hot feeling, a sort of burning that makes you squirm and flush and sink into yourself, even though you don't want to, that comes with verbal humiliation. Derek knows the feeling all too well. Sometimes it comes with the realization that you really are exactly that - a slut, or that you look pretty with cum-stained lips, or that you're only good for being used, and you want nothing more than to rise to the occasion. Sometimes there is the realization that you aren't any of that, and the words make you feel terrible, with the prickling of tears behind your eyes and the shame, deep inside your heart, that rises to the surface and bathes you in the knowledge that you really are good for only one thing, and that you'll never overcome that.

Derek is intimately acquaintance with both feelings; he experiences them regularly with Stiles, in different scenes, when he needs different things. And this - this praise? Being called beautiful? It's hitting that same spot, just differently. 

His stomach clenched again and he forgot to breathe for a minute, until Stiles rested a gentle hand on his back and whispered, "Breathe, Derek," into his ear, and guided him to the bed. Derek hadn't even realized they were both naked. 

"You're so good for me." Stiles pulled down the blankets and settled Derek among them, crawling in behind him and pulling Derek into his arms so they were spooning. "So good to me, too. Too good for me."

Derek didn't think that was possible, it was really the other way around, as Stiles was so obviously demonstrating, but he didn't say anything. Didn't think he could say anything, because if he even opened his mouth, all that would come out would be a sob. 

"You're so strong, and determined, and you just give yourself over to me," Stiles continued. "You've come through so much, but you trust me enough to do things to you. Do you know how much strength that takes?"

Derek isn't stupid. He knew how submission was discussed and treated, in certain circles, when you get away from the typical jokes of being whipped and emasculated. But submission has never been a problem for him, never been that hard for him. He's a werewolf. It's something he understood and wanted. So no, Derek doesn't really understand the strength it takes to submit. But he didn't say anything, just lets Stiles continue. 

Stiles' hands slide up and down his sides, and Derek relaxed into him, although that feeling didn't go away, still lingered in his stomach, heavy and hot. Stiles finally took Derek in hand, stroking him into hardness, although the action wasn't laced with the normal rush of their afternoons, or the slow, drawn out teasing so typical of their weekend nights. There were also no orders not to come, or not to say anything, or to remain perfectly still. Stiles hand was soft and sweet around him, perfectly matching his words. 

Derek didn't deserve any of that, and the hot, deep shame of humiliation burned through his veins. He shouldn't _need_ any of that.

It feels like aftercare, but even more. Their aftercare is touching, and soft, and Stiles always spends an inordinate amount of time touching him and cuddling him and making sure Derek is clean, hydrated, relaxed, and loved - sometimes, Derek thought the aftercare was more for Stiles than it was for him - and they talk about everything that happened, because Stiles wanted to know everything. (Always.) 

This feels a thousand times more intense than their aftercare, and more intense than the kinkiest of their scenes, and the shame grew in his stomach.

"You've struggled through so much, and you've come such a long way, achieved so much," Stiles said, pressing a kiss to Derek's shoulder. And Derek just - couldn't.

"Stop," Derek said, grabbing Stiles' wrist. It wasn't their safeword, but Stiles heard the seriousness behind it and let go of Derek, although he didn't move his hand from Derek's wrist. "I can't. This isn't - it's not-"

Stiles leaned up on his free arm, twisting a little to look down at Derek. "What's not? Not what?"

Derek had gotten better about communication over the years. He'd had to, with this relationship he had with Stiles, but talking about emotions, especially in such an environment, was never easy for him. And everything seemed to be weighing too heavily on his mind, frustrating him even further. 

He thought he'd dealt with these things already. He didn't want to dump what was just a little frustration over being unable to accomplish something on Stiles. Especially such a little, stupid thing, like putting together a broken figurine. 

"Derek?" Stiles repeated. The concern was evident in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"I haven't achieved anything," Derek ground out, finally. "Still can't accomplish anything. I haven't-"

Stiles rolled them over, so Derek was on his back, and straddled Derek in one smooth move. His hands came up to cup Derek's face, and Derek had to close his eyes against the force of Stiles' brown eyes, looking down into his core. "Derek," he said, "you've accomplished more than you'll ever realize. You never gave up, no matter how bad things were, and you've done so much, just in the years I've known you. You came back from losing your family, having people betray you, and use you, and losing your pack again. And you're not ugly or mean or resentful. So many people would be. Hell, I would be."

"It's not that-"

"No. Stop." Stiles covered Derek's mouth, shaking his head. "It is that big of an accomplishment. And just because you can't piece together a figurine doesn't mean you're a failure." He shifted, going from straddling Derek to stretching out on top of him. "If I have to spend the next fifty years reminding you of that, I will."

And Derek couldn't take that. He knew that he didn't deserve such a thing, didn't deserve Stiles. That white-hot feeling of shame and humiliation exploded inside his stomach, and the tears that had been prickling at his eyes since Stiles started finally escaped. 

Derek brought his hands up to cover his eyes, a single sob escaping him, and then he felt Stiles wrap his arms around him, and pull him into his arms. It wasn't okay, not yet, and he couldn't seem to stop the tears once they started, but Stiles' arms were a warm comfort and a shield from the rest of the world. 

-

Stiles was long gone by the time Derek dragged himself out of bed the next morning, but there was a granola bar and a bottle of water by the bed, and a sticky note with a stick figure blowing a kiss to another stick figure. It wasn't as good as Stiles, but it made Derek smile, and look forward to the evening.

When he finally approached the desk he'd been working at the night before, there was another sticky note, along with a piece of the wolf he hadn't noticed before. 

"Found it this morning," the sticky note read. "Thought it might help you fix the wolf.

"P.S.: My foot says you're not welcome."

Derek laughed, stashing the sticky note in a drawer along with a hundred other sticky notes, and sat down. The missing piece might be just the thing he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Derek/Stiles. (Well not really but the one I wrote will remain buried FOR ALL TIME.) Uhh. This is an account my friends don't know of, so it's not really my first fic on the site, just the first under this name.
> 
> There will be more. You've been warned. 
> 
> (I've got a tumblr but it's very sad and lonely right now. Give me time and more will be in there and I might mention it then?)


End file.
